


House of Memories

by Iriascent



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Best Friends, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Crushes, F/M, Gay Michael Mell, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Out of Character, POV Second Person, Past Relationship(s), Photography, Self-Hatred, based on a youtube video
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iriascent/pseuds/Iriascent
Summary: Jeremy Heere became a paranormal investigator after his best friend, Michael Mell, died in an accident in the abandoned Middle Borough house. He tried his best to forget the events of that night by throwing himself into his work, but one day, he finds himself back at the scene of Michael's death.What happens if Michael's ghost finds him there?





	House of Memories

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryuskiii](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ryuskiii).



> Based on this Youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMEnf2535Xc&edufilter=t_76g2Jbtkf5sdmxyxcSOg
> 
> Also guys, I'm not trying to demonize Christine and/or Jeremy. This story is just being told from ghost!Michael's point of view and... he blames them both for his death, so yeah. (see notes at bottom for more info)
> 
> Enjoy!

_If you're a lover, you should know, the lonely moments just get lonelier_

_The longer you're in love than if you were alone_

 

Poor guy.

He has no idea what he’s stepping into, does he?

He runs a freckled hand along the surface of the wooden door. Well, _that’s_ going to leave some very annoying splinters later. He’s shivering, from either cold or nerves, and you can’t tell which.

You try and ignore the birthmark on his wrist, because it can’t be him. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to come here again.

(do you remember how you used to kiss it? do you remember how you would always hold his hand to your face and tease him about a literal heart on his sleeve?)

 

_Memories turn into daydreams become a taboo_

 

_“Michael! Michael, come on, it’s going to be fun, you should join us. A real haunted house! What’s not to like?”_

_You were never really good at standing up to peer pressure._

 

_I don't want to be afraid_

_The deeper that I go; it takes my breath away_

_Soft hearts electric souls_

 

You squint at the nametag dangling from his shirt. _Jeremy Heere, Part-Time Paranormal Photographer._ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Damn. Possessing portraits of dead rich people makes it convenient to spy on others, but it’s a definite pain in the ass.

You drift away, noticing the glow of his soul. It’s a luminous bright blue, with… Oh. It’s cracked. That’s peculiar.

(don’t get your hopes up, michael, it’s not because of you, it’s _not because of you-_ )

 

_Heart to heart and eyes to eyes_

_Is this taboo?_

 

_“Where’s Christine?”_

_“She texted me that she’s on her way to the house… thirty minutes ago. Do you know if she’s even coming?”_

_“Hey, even if she isn't, it’s going to be fine. Just you and me. Two-player game, remember?”_

 

_Baby we built this house on memories_

_Take my picture now, shake it til you see it_

 

He takes a deep breath, shrugging as if to say, ‘Here goes nothing.’ The pictures stare down at him, looking impossibly serene. They aren’t. Really. If you have to see one more hanged/burned/stabbed ghost, you’re going to have to try to kill yourself. (ha, like that worked out last time)

He lifts up his camera, snapping a quick picture as the sudden flash of light causes him to blink rapidly. The picture slides out, and he waves it in the air until the image forms.

Because there’s nothing better for ghost hunters, even part-time ones, to do around haunted houses than taking pictures of their ex’s backsides.

 

_And when your fantasies become your legacy_

_Promise me a place in your house of memories_

 

He looks down at the picture, eyes wide. You scoff. Psh, he would never have seen you if you hadn’t shown yourself to him. _Don’t take all of the credit._

The Polaroid camera bangs against his chest as he skids around the corner. _What’s the rush, Jere?_

His normally smiling mouth thins into a hard line. He stares purposefully down the hallway, and sets off in pursuit of a long-dead ghost of the past.

 

_I think of you from time to time, more than I thought I would_

_You were just too kind, and I was too young to know_

_Over time, you learned to brace yourself for the ever-present question from your inquisitive, also-dead housemates: “How did you die?”_

_That lead to telling the entire story, which lead to “So… he just left you there? Even though you explicitly stated that you weren’t comfortable in that house?”_

_Possible answers: “Jeremy didn’t know that I would_ ** _die._** _Give him a break.” vs._

_“Jeremy was wrong about ditching me for Christine, but it’s not like he can tell the future.” vs._

_“He shouldn’t have just left me there. He just left me to die while he had fun with his new girlfriend.”_

_Girlfriend. That word still hurts._ _(did he love her? did he kiss her, touch her like he did with you?)_

 

_That's all that really matters; I was a fool_

_“Hey, Christine texted me! She just pulled up in front of the house. I’m going to go greet her; can you guard our food from animals and stuff?”_

_“I’m… not really comfortable here. Can we just go together to greet Christine? It feels like this house is going to fall apart at any second.”_

_“Coward,” he teased. “It’s okay, Michael, we’ll be back in a minute. It’ll be fine. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”_

_“I promise.”_

_Baby we built this house on memories_

_Take my picture now, shake it til you see it_

 

Your death was slow and painful.

It wasn’t the rusty nails digging into your skin that got you. It wasn’t your body trapped under a pile of broken wood and glass.

No, it was the slow lack of air, the cutoff of oxygen to your lungs that you wasted trying to scream for help.

Jeremy couldn’t hear you. You later found out that he was too busy making out with Christine Canigula, resident theater geek, in the yard shed. This, apparently, had been going on for a couple of weeks now. (is it really cheating if you two weren’t even dating? shut up, _shut up_ )

 

_And when your fantasies become your legacy_

_Promise me a place in your house of memories_

 

His nervous blue eyes match your tired dark brown ones. They skip around the hallway like ping pong balls, searching for a hint, a clue, that might lead him to an elusive spirit. _Be careful what you wish for, Jere._

He takes a deep breath and pushes open a familiar looking wooden door, stepping inside the room.

You know, the one where you died in.

 

_Those thoughts of past lovers; they'll always haunt me_

_I wish I could believe you'd never wrong me_

 

The entire outer wall is crumbled to pieces on the ground, leaving the room bare to the wind outside. Lightning flashes, illuminating the fear on his face. He shivers, and you’re tempted to give him your hoodie, but you’re a ghost. It’d just go straight through him.

His eyes fill with tears, dripping onto the rotted floor. _Do you feel bad about it, Jere? Do you feel bad about leaving me to die?_

_Good. I was starting to think that you forgot-_

 

_Then will you remember me in the same way_

 

_“But I remember you.”_

 

_Baby we built this house on memories_

_Take my picture now, shake it til you see it_

 

You turn towards him, placing your insubstantial hands on his as best as you can, guiding it upwards towards his camera. You are so close to him that you can see every light freckle upon his face, the thin lines around his eyes, his mouth slightly open and lips slightly chapped.

It’s the first time in years that you have seen him, and now, you’re torn between the decision to kiss him or kill him.

The camera makes a snapping sound, and the light flashes in your eyes. He shakes the picture quickly, still closing his eyes against the previous flash.

When he sees what kind of monster that he has captured in his Polaroid, he drops the photo.

 

_And when your fantasies become your legacy_

_Promise me a place…_

 

He turns white as chalk, eyes and mouth frozen wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. He scrambles away from the photo, falling to the ground in shock as the picture floats gently to the ground.

The outline of a screaming ghost could clearly be seen; your eyes were entirely black without any pupils, and you were simply _radiating_ with power.

_(isn’t that what you always wanted? to finally have jeremy_ **_look_ ** _at you?)_

You place one sneakered foot on the photograph, showing him your true form. His eyes are wide with panic and terror, breaths ragged and harsh. “What the fuck is that?”

And in that instant, something inside of you breaks.

 

_Baby we built this house on memories_

_Take my picture now, shake it til you see it_

 

He gets up and runs, ever-constant Polaroid banging against his chest. Dust motes dance in the air with every stomp of his feet.

For good measure, you yank at the satchel hanging off of his shoulders. By some stroke of luck, it catches on a rusty nail and splits open.

Pictures hover in the air for a split second before they fall all around him. A picture of a grave lands onto the ground right in front of you, and you see another photo of a tombstone before it’s buried by the wash of smiling families and friends and _Christine-_

 

_And when your fantasies become your legacy_

_Promise me a place in your house of memories_

 

Right before he reaches the door, he turns back to you, clutching the broken satchel to his chest. He’s about to snap one last picture- but then, the gleam of horrified recognition appears in his eyes.

You can see yourself reflected in the camera lens. There are giant bags under your eyes, and there’s still rusted blood on your hoodie, obscuring the rainbow flag patch on your shoulder.

You just look so _tired._

And you are. You’re sick of everyone and everything, _especially_ Jeremy, and you just want to leave it all behind.

His lips press together in a thin line.

“Michael?”

 

_In your house of memories_

 

You say nothing, even though your soul desperately cries out to him. It’s better to stay silent when it comes to the affairs of the living and the dead.

Jeremy turns away, slamming the door shut behind him as hard as he can.

Once you hear his car pulling away, the poker face that you have worked so hard to maintain collapses into a bitter smile. _Of course he left. For the second time._ _  
_ You try and ignore the tears leaking down your face, because you’re not going to let him barge into your life and steal your heart. Again.

You pick up a photograph on the floor. It’s an old one of you and him at the community pool, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders and a scoop of ice cream precariously leaning off of his cone.

Your desolated expression twists into a malicious smirk in an effort to forget all about him. It works.

Kind of.

 

_Promise me a place…_

 

“Fuck you, Jeremy Heere.” Your words have more bark than bite. “Asshole.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Jeremy and Michael were experimenting, but Jeremy didn't know that Michael kind of thought that they were actually secret boyfriends. So he asked Christine out on a fun sleepover with him and Michael, and... welp. A wall fell on Michael while they were too busy making out. 
> 
> Christine's still the same person she was in canon; same with Jeremy.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
